A Night at the Lux
by Shiawase Vampire
Summary: It was a quiet night at the Lux, an uneventful one, remarkably enough, until someone decided to come and pay an unexpected, and rather rude, visit to Hell's former ruler.


**A Night at the Lux**

The dark burgundy wine swirled and sloshed softly in his glass, the blond-haired man lazily watching the liquid move about. On and on he watched it, glancing up every now and then to survey the crowd from his vantage point at the elegant bar. Atop a plush leather stool he sat, feet propped up on lower rungs of the backless seat. This particular evening, the man was dressed in a posh, satin lined tuxedo, his black bow-tie crisp and wound snuggly around his neck. Everything from his cummerbund to shoes fit perfectly on his broad shouldered, lean muscled body.

All in all, the man exuded a careless grace and sophistication filled with power. It was no wonder then that people were giving him looks all night—the women curious and lustful glances; the men jealous and questioning glares.

If they only knew who they were looking at….

A fast jazzy piece of music started up then, the moaning wails of a saxophone piercing the air. Patrons slowly stood, grabbing hold of their dance partners, and wound their way to the small wooden paneled dance floor. His foot began to tap the rung lightly, the music pleasing to his ears.

"Um…excuse me?" a quiet voice said behind him, a tiny hand tapping his shoulder.

"What is it?" he said in a silky voice, not turning around. His foot now tapped impatiently. He wasn't in the mood to be disturbed.

The woman removed her hand timidly. "Wo—would you care for a dance?" she stammered. "You seemed lonely sitting here by yourself."

He turned his head slightly, a black eyebrow arched high on his handsome face. "Thank you for the concern, but I'm perfectly fine where I am."

"But would you like to dance at all?" the woman persisted.

"No. There are others more willing to dance with you elsewhere."

The woman didn't say anything else to him and soon he was left alone again. A small sneer twitched on his face at the thought of dancing with such a creature. Rolling his eyes, he drank back the remainder of the wine to get rid of the taste of disgust he felt on his tongue. The glass was cold against his lips, the fragrant bouquet of a particularly old French vintage wafted to his nose. With a sigh, he set down his glass and stood, leaning back against the bar with his arms folded across his chest.

His icy cold blue eyes fell on the dancing patrons, some unaware of his gaze. They clung to each other desperately as if each passing moment would be their last. It very well could be, for all he knew. Something could be lurking in the shadows, biding its time before it struck. No one would be the wiser until the bodies began to fall.

The shadows, however, seemed fairly unoccupied at the Lux that night. Frankly, he was quite glad about that. Somehow, he could never maintain the level of privacy he wished for.

After a few minutes, he began wishing for some malevolent shadows to show up. At least he'd have some excitement or something to distract his patrons. They were beginning to give him different looks now, almost like some of them had figured out what he was.

Perhaps it was time to intervene.

As the band wound up their last song, he began clapping along with all the dancers and nodded to the bandleader. The bandleader in turn gave looks to the rest of the band and they bowed to even louder applause before walking off the stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said in his smooth and charming voice. "Let's give another round of applause to our wonderful house band, shall we?" He held his hands out in their direction and clapped, a small fake smile at the corners of his lips. When the crowd finished, he settled himself down at the sleek black grand piano and with a fancy elegant motion, set his fingers to the keys and began to play.

Just down the street from the Lux, one such shadow was at play. One wouldn't call him malevolent though, so to speak. Misguided and spontaneously homicidal would be a better description. And vulgar too, but only to choice people. However, he had vulgar words to take up with someone that night, and so help him, he'd have them said.

His fingers were still tacky with coagulating blood from his brother's body, but this was a normal occurrence, so he paid it no mind. If he had things figured correctly, he had at least an hour to escape from the Dreaming before anyone noticed his absence. Their master was in yet another fit of depression about something, so he wasn't likely to miss him either.

The streetlamps cast very little light on the sidewalk—perfect for stealthily traversing the streets. As a creature not quite of the world—nor even of fashion—darkness was the better cover. And so, grumbling and clenching his fists as he went, ignoring the blood spatter on his lapel.

He arrived within minutes and wasn't surprised at the lack of security. The owner would only hire bodyguards or bouncers if he needed them, but this wasn't likely. Since the owner was the thing he was, he understood why. Internal alarm bells were enough for creatures of any realm and his were buzzing like mad. Perhaps most other creatures of the world felt it and were warned away. If he were his brother, he wouldn't have been within the same state.

However, he wasn't his brother, nor did he ever want to be like his brother. For as long as he's lived, he's fought with every fiber of his being to make himself distinct. Everything from his thin face and cunning thoughts down to his rotten core stood out against that of his brother's demeanor; his was more of a stuttering and shaking flabby body whose pores oozed either sweat or blood—depending on the occasion.

His brother would let himself be treaded upon by someone with knives in the soles of his shoes (which wasn't a wholly bad idea, now that he thought of it) and not fight back. His brother would allow himself to be bludgeoned to death. It was nice of him not to cry out for help (not that he had time to scream for it anyway). The nice chap was quite reliable in not making a scene…unlike what he was going to do now.

"Well, well, well," he said loudly over the ridiculous piano music. "When between torturings did you find time to learn an instrument, your lordship, or should I say _former_?"

All heads in the posh dimly lit ballroom turned to him, the owners whispering back and forth to each other. The blond piano player continued on with his song, a black eyebrow arched on his handsome face. He should have known better than to expect a reaction out of that creature. He scowled severely and plunged into the crowd, the gaudily dressed patrons giving him a wide berth.

"Don't act like you didn't hear me!" he said, a disbelieving little chuckle in his throat. He had made his way up to the stage now and slammed his hands down on the sleek surface. "What do you have to say? Not so big and tough outside of Hell now are you, Lucifer?"

It was like dropping an atomic bomb or yelling "fire!" in a crowded theatre. There was a split second delay of silence (minus the end notes of the piano song, of course) and then an eruption of chaos. In some distant corner of his mind, he enjoyed the screams and rush of bodies behind him.

Suddenly, there was a sharp blade pressed against his throat.

"Mazikeen, there'll be no need," he said calmly, swiveling on the piano bench to face the rude intruder. Inside he was seething. He rather enjoyed his song and hated to be interrupted.

The half-masked woman nodded, a disappointed frown on her face, and made the knife disappear within the depths of her robes. "Please see to it that everyone has left then close up for the night."

"Yhesh rry rrhoad."

He turned his attention back to the thin red-bearded man now. Standing, he made his way to him gracefully, smoothing his tuxedo and checking his cuff links. The short little man with the Mark started to tremble visibly, all resolve gone. Flashes of a time past, another life virtually, appeared in his mind. A small grin spread across his features as he remembered.

"What is your message? You seemed eager to speak earlier, First-Born Man."

"I—I, uh…" the little man stuttered, his face covered in thin layer of sweat.

"Well, out with it," he said calmly, removing a cigarette from an inside jacket packet. "You may speak freely here now that you've scared off my customers."

The little man stopped wringing his bloodstained hands and cleared his throat before he spoke. "I've come to settle a score."

An eyebrow quirked up. "A score?" he asked, waving out a match. "There is no score. Previously, you came into my realm, so thusly you were brought to me and I treated you with the respect that the Mark gives its bearer."

"You humiliated me! And—and—and made me like _him_!" the bespectacled man snarled. "I couldn't think straight or talk like myself. I was worried for my life! I…" the words seemed to pain the man to say. "…I _became_ that odious, pitiful man-child that I've despised all my life!"

"So?"

Much to his amusement, the bearded man began to sputter and curse. A chair was even thrown, breaking one of the bar mirrors. He made a mental note to have that replaced in the morning.

"I'm going to make you regret doing that to me!" the bearded man growled, arming himself with another chair. "And this time, you can't fly me around Hell by the roots of my hair!"

He could feel a slight headache coming on. "If you wish to smash my furniture, please smash the tables. Large mirrors like that are getting more and more expensive these days."

"Are you listening to me!"

"Of course I am," he replied, taking a small drag from his cigarette. "But all I heard was a lot of your mouth moving but no intelligent words were coming out, so what you've said must not be important."

"You son of a bitch!"

His eyes narrowed and he flicked his cigarette at the charging man. The second the first piece of ash fell on the chair, it went up in flames. The bespectacled man yelped in pain and dropped the chair on the floor.

"Listen," he said, stepping closer to the mess. "You came in here, scared away my customers and all for what? To interrupt my song. Go back to your realm. Kill your brother, as I'm sure you do on an hourly basis. Nothing like being a creature of habit, huh Cain?"

"Be quiet!" the little man growled. "I will _not_ go back! Not until I get an apology from you!"

With a wave of his hand, he extinguished the fire and sat down in an unburned chair. "I'm afraid you aren't getting the message. You are best off leaving here without delay. I am no longer that lord of Hell, as you so kindly stated. Therefore, I am not bound by the confines, rules, and politics of Hell—and your Mark still means nothing to me. You are a fool to assume you'd be safer approaching me on Earth than in Hell."

The little man stewed visibly for a second.

"What you ask for is simply useless and the effort futile, and as much as I appreciate little visits such as this, I must say they bore me as you are boring me now.

"So Cain, First-Born Man, leave."

With a savage swing of his fists, the little man cracked the table apart and left without another word.

He stood, ignoring the mess, and strode over to the bar. The half-masked woman stood behind it, watching him. Sighing softly, he rested a hand on the cool surface of the bar, running another through his hair.

"Mazikeen, leave that for the morning shift. Don't trouble yourself this time. It'll give them something do and something interesting to talk about. I expect we'll have an interesting crowd for a while. Well…that was one of the least troublesome this place has attracted, if not one of the more annoying ones, however."

He gave a slight shrug in indifference and removed another cigarette from his jacket pocket. "Another glass from my special bottle, Mazikeen," he said, briefly looking up before striking a match. He breathed in slow and long once lit, exhaling the smoke and waving out the match.

In his mind he fancied he could hear the screams of the Second-Born Man cleave the air in the Dreaming—and he felt nothing. He sat and sipped his wine, contemplating what to play next.


End file.
